Page 15 of Rebound My Alpha
"You're a terrible person," he says, fists in my shirt, dragging me closer.
"You left the door open."
"That's not an invitation."
"Sure it isn't." I get my hands under his shirt. His skin is hot. He shivers when my thumbs find his hip bones. His cock is hard against my thigh through his jeans. His scent spikes—sweet, slick. "You're wet."
"Fuck you."
"Give me a few minutes."
Shirts go first. Yanked off, tossed somewhere we'll deal with later. We stumble toward the bedroom, bouncing off the hallwaywall and the bathroom doorframe. His hand fists in my belt loop. His mouth runs a steady inventory of everything wrong with me.
His room is dark and smells like him. The bed is unmade. I push him down onto it, and he pulls me with him. We're a tangle of limbs fighting to get each other's jeans off without stopping the kiss. He shoves at my chest, tries to flip me. I let him think he's winning for a second before I pin him back with my hips. He hooks a leg around my waist and digs his heel into my back.Try me.
I grin. Fighting with him in bed is better than anything I've done with anyone else.
"That all you got, Rivera?" He rolls his hips up. The friction of his cock against mine through the denim makes my thoughts go sideways.
"Haven't started yet." I work his jeans and underwear off. Mine go too. Skin on skin. His cock is hard, leaking slick against his stomach. I wrap my hand around it. His whole body jerks.
"Don't look smug about it," he snaps, but his voice is already going.
I get my fingers between his legs. He's soaked. Slick and hot. My first finger slides in with no resistance. The sound he makes is a man losing an argument he was sure he was winning. I add a second finger. Take my time. His face is worth every insult he's throwing at me. He tells me I'm slow. Terrible. He's had better. But his hips are grinding down on my hand.
"You were saying?" I push a third finger in. His head drops back. His mouth falls open. Silence. Best sound I've heard all week.
"Just fuck me already," he manages. His body clenches around my fingers. My cock aches. The bond is screaming.
I push in. We both stop breathing.
The fit is so perfect it scares the shit out of me. Then Benji digs his heel into my back. "Are you going to move or just take up space?"
We fall into it. Hard and driving. The headboard hits the wall. His legs lock around my waist. I'm deep with every thrust, angled exactly how I remember because my body kept the map of him even when I was pretending to forget. His nails are in my back. His face is fighting a losing battle between anger and pleasure.
"You were so sweet on that bench," I say, knowing I'm being a dick. "All that laughing. Where'd that guy go?"
"He died."
I nail his prostate. The insult dissolves into a moan that fills the room. I grin and do it again.
"Keep talking. I love when you run your mouth while I'm making you fall apart."
"I'm not—fuck—that's biology, that's not you—oh god right there, don't stop—"
"Biology. Sure. That's why you're pulling me closer."
"I'm not pulling you—okay, I'm pulling you closer, but that's—you're the WORST—"
"You feel incredible," I say. It’s supposed to be cocky, but it comes out sounding like honesty. I roll my hips at the angle that makes him gasp to cover it up. "So tight around me, and you're so wet I can hear it, and you want to tell me this doesn't mean anything?"
"It doesn't mean—FUCK—it means you're good at sex, congratulations. So is every other alpha who's had enough practice—"
"How many other alphas are making you sound like that?"
"You'd better make this count"—his voice gets its knife-edge back—"since we both know you won't be here in the morning."
My rhythm falters for half a stroke. Something tightens behind my ribs. He sees it, his eyes going sharp with satisfaction. I slam my hips forward to cover the stumble. He found the wound and stuck his thumb right in it. I earned that. His legs tighten around me, pulling me deeper. Daring me to prove him wrong.
